Calypso Directive

by Brian Andrews

  But the phone call moments ago had changed everything.

  The news of his brother’s death had flipped a switch in the German boss man’s head, and now he was like a rabid dog. She gave herself a 10 percent chance of survival. Since he couldn’t kill the man on the black motorcycle who he blamed for his brother’s death, odds were she would be an acceptable stand-in for his revenge. It didn’t matter what she said. Talking only would infuriate him. For the first time in her life, she could feel Death’s breath on the nape of her neck. This was not a nightmare; it was real.

  She began to sob.

  “WHO IS THE BLACK RIDER? WHO KILLED MY BROTHER?” Raimond screamed.

  “I told you. I don’t know. That wasn’t part of the plan. My job was to stay close to Foster and keep him from running. Everything else was orchestrated by Meredith Morley; she didn’t tell me the details. I was just supposed to get Foster to the meeting. She was in charge of transporting Foster back to Prague. I don’t know anything else. I swear. I’ve told you everything I know.”

  Raimond yearned to pull the trigger and unleash on this American girl all the hatred and fury he felt against the black rider. Against Meredith Morley. Against William Foster, and against the whole fucking world. But his index finger was noncompliant.

  He withdrew the pistol muzzle from Julie’s temple. Her death would revenge nothing. Her murder would not quench the fire raging in his soul. Julie Ponte would serve his needs better as a bargaining chip. He threw the weapon onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, raised his fists toward the sky, and unleashed a bloodcurdling scream. When he was done, Raimond collapsed to his knees and buried his head in his hands.

  Stefan looked down at Raimond. His older brother’s reaction to Udo’s death had been immediate and visceral. Raimond had spared Ponte, but he would unleash hell on whomever he ultimately deemed responsible for Udo’s death. Stefan’s mind had not yet internalized the news of his brother’s death. He was in denial, but it was a denial that he was strangely conscious of. He would not start to mourn his dead brother for days, maybe even weeks. Pain would find him, but later. Grief would overwhelm him suddenly and completely. During a subway ride, or while he was having a beer at a pub. For now though, he felt nothing.

  The sound of a mobile phone ringing pierced the silence.

  Julie lifted her head instinctively. The ringing phone was hers. Raimond jumped to his feet.

  “That’s your phone, isn’t it?” he asked her.

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “My right jacket zipper pocket,” she replied.

  Raimond walked around her and retrieved the phone from her pocket. He looked at the LCD screen. The caller ID was “BLOCKED”.

  Raimond pressed the Talk button on the phone and raised it to Julie’s ear. “Answer it.”

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Julie?”

  “Will!”

  Raimond pulled the phone from her ear and raised it to his own.

  “You are causing a great deal of trouble for everyone.”

  “Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you and your mercenary brothers. You took someone I care about. I want her back.”

  “You’re going to get her back in little pieces in a garbage bag unless you give me what I want.”

  “Then I propose a trade.”

  Raimond cackled. “A trade! What could you possibly trade that I want?”

  “Me.”

  “Interesting. What are your terms?”

  “Release Julie unharmed, and I will turn myself over to you. After that, you can do with me what you will.”

  “No deal.”

  Silence persisted on the line for several moments.

  “What do you mean no deal?”

  “I will only release the girl in exchange for you and the motorcycle rider who stole you away from the Café Sacher.”

  “That is going to be impossible.”

  “Then the girl dies.”

  “It’s impossible because the motorcycle rider you are talking about is dead.”

  Raimond held the line in silence. His mind was racing. Maybe the police had made a mistake. Maybe his brother Udo was alive and it was the other motorcycle driver who was killed. Maybe this was a trick.

  “There was an accident during the chase. Both motorcycle drivers were killed. I was thrown from the bike and managed to hobble away from the accident before the police arrived. I’m tired of running. I’m ready to end this.”

  Raimond rubbed his temples. He could not decide if the American was deceiving him. Foster spoke with confidence and without hesitation. His answers were logical, and they did not sound rehearsed. Unless he was an accomplished liar, odds were that he was telling the truth. Raimond decided that it didn’t matter anyway. He occupied the position of advantage. As long as he had control of the American woman, he could manipulate Foster. After the trade, he could torture Foster for the truth about the black rider. Raimond smiled. He would enjoy torturing Will Foster.

  “I agree to your terms.”

  “Meet me at the Karlskirche Catholic cathedral at ten o’clock. I want to make my peace with God first.”

  “At this hour? The church will be locked,” Raimond said.

  “I have never known a priest to turn away a man requesting his last rites.”

  “Leave the church when you’re done. We’ll make the trade outside.”

  “No deal. I don’t trust you. If you want me, then this exchange is going to happen in front of God’s witness. When I leave with you, Julie stays behind with the priest.”

  Raimond had not anticipated this little wrinkle. A man of faith he certainly was not, but the idea of killing a priest did not sit well with him. Then the voice in his head reminded him that his brother Udo was dead; unless he was a coward, nothing should stand in the way of his revenge. Raimond shrugged. He would see how it played out, and do what was necessary in the end. If a priest needed to die, then a priest would die. Karlskirche would serve his needs well. The surrounding area would be deserted so late at night. The thick marble walls would conceal the sound of any gunshots, should things get out of hand.

  “Ten o’clock. Come alone or the girl dies.” Raimond hung up the phone. He turned to Julie and studied her face a moment before speaking. “It seems your charms were quite effective. Will Foster just agreed to trade his life for yours. You must have quite a mouth on you to seduce a man so completely.” He turned to Stefan. “What do you think, Stefan? Should I let her try to earn her freedom?” he said and unzipped the fly on his pants.

  Stefan laughed. “Careful, women are unpredictable. And this one has teeth.”

  “I can solve that problem; teeth are removable. I just need a good set of pliers.”

  Julie looked up at him in terror, and he met her gaze. He took pleasure in her fear. He let her mind churn. Her skin was pale, and she looked nauseous. He smirked and then zipped up his fly.

  “Come, Stefan. We haven’t much time. We need to plan for this meeting,” Raimond said as he turned and walked toward the van.

  “What do you have in mind, Brother?” Stefan asked, speaking in German and trotting to catch up.

  “I want you to take the sniper rifle and go to the Karlskirche in advance. Find a position in one of the balconies. Choose your location carefully. Pick a balcony where you have a clear line of fire to all locations in the congregation area below. If Foster brings help, then you know what to do.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  WILL STARED AT the twin spires and ornate copper cupola of the Karlskirche from across the reflecting pool in the courtyard. Moonlight and the breeze danced a Viennese waltz across the surface of water—the reflection of the church was a grand mosaic—a thousand ripples moving in melody. Ironic that his journey would end here, at this church dedicated to pay homage to the hundreds of thousands of Austrians who had died of the plague centuries ago. It was no accident that he had insisted on this location for the final showdown wi
th the Zurn brothers. Fifteen hours earlier he had entered the Karlskirche sanctuary and inconspicuously hidden the stolen glass vial under a wooden pew.

  Special Agent Reed knew about the vials. Apparently, Meredith Morley had reported them stolen from Chiarek Norse. But in trying to extract details from Will about the location of the vials, Reed revealed that one of the vials contained a gene therapy, believed to derived from Will’s DNA, Will had responded to Reed’s questions with a lie, and said that both vials were lost when they shattered on the floor of the youth hostel. He had no choice but to lie, the remaining vial was the only bargaining leverage he possessed. Other than his life, that was. He doubted the FBI understood the true nature of his mutation; he had not told them about his meeting with Johansen. Will estimated the formula was worth tens of millions of dollars on the black market, and he was certain that even Raimond Zurn, despite all his fury, could be persuaded by that much money. If Reed and Nelson knew the vial’s true worth, he doubted their government masters would let them hand it over to Zurn, even in exchange for Julie’s life. All that mattered now was that the vial stay hidden until he could make the trade. He would do whatever was necessary to save Julie, just as she had done for him.

  Albane patted Will’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Nervous?”

  “I’d be a liar if I said otherwise.”

  “Good, then you’re not overconfident. Overconfidence, in my experience, is an omen of failure.”

  Will offered up an awkward smile, but said nothing.

  “Raimond Zurn may be vicious, but I promise you, he has no idea what’s about to hit him,” she said. She reached into her pocket, retrieved a button with an adhesive backing and fixed it to the inside of his shirt collar.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A microphone transceiver, disguised as a button. When you talk, we’ll be able to hear everything you say.”

  “Like a wire they use on cop shows on TV?”

  “Exactly, just much smaller. Do you remember your handle?”

  “Yes. It’s Foxtrot.”

  “Coordinator, this is Social. How do you copy Foxtrot?”

  R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Social, this is your Coordinator. I copy Foxtrot, Lima Charlie.”

  “Good. We can hear you perfectly.”

  “How will I hear you? Shouldn’t I have an earpiece or something?” Will asked.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea. There will be a lot of chatter on the circuit, and if you’re not used to it, it makes it hard to think. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience. It’s better if you’re not distracted. You’re going to have your hands full just talking to Zurn.”

  Will nodded. His eyes expressed all the emotions he felt without uttering a word to her. He pulled his jacket collar up and began walking toward the church.

  The front entrance of the Karlskirche was situated behind six Corinthian stone pillars supporting a Doric portico mimicking the Parthenon in Athens, but these doors were kept closed and locked except for special occasions. Regular access to the church was via a set of tall wooden double doors on the west side. Viewing hours for tourists ended at five o’clock. Catholic evening mass began at six o’clock, and the church was closed to the public after the conclusion of mass. The west entrance was locked promptly after mass, and the church was closed until the next morning.

  Kalen had arrived thirty minutes before the rest of the team, bypassed building security, and unlocked the doors from the inside. After a survey of the nave and transept, he exited the public area of the church through a set of doors beyond the altar that lead to the restricted areas of the church where he would complete his final preparations for the engagement.

  Also already inside the church was Stefan Zurn, who had arrived before Will but after Kalen. To his delight, he had found the west entrance unlocked, which allowed him to sneak inside without having to fuss with breaking in. However, an unlocked entrance also meant that he was not alone. He took care not to make a sound as he crept along the dark west corridor. Before entering the nave, he stood motionless and surveyed the pews to ensure no one was praying in the church. Killing a man or woman of the cloth was not on his agenda.

  Karlskirche was undergoing extensive interior renovations. A massive scaffold occupied the west side of the church, stretching from the ground level up, over one hundred feet in the air to the top of the cupola. The scaffold was so tall that an elevator had been installed within to facilitate travel to and from the dome. Marble structures everywhere were being polished to remove centuries’ worth of candle smoke from their surfaces. Frescoes adorning the dome of the cupola were being meticulously freshened and retouched. The division between the old and the renovated portions of a structure was dramatic visual evidence of how the grandeur of the church had faded over the years.

  For Stefan, the scaffolding had been an unexpected gift. A sniper’s dream. The interlocking steel trusses were bathed in shadow. Horizontal platforms with interconnecting ladder stairs formed staggered tiers all the way up to the ceiling and offered him a firing angle to every location inside the church except for directly beneath him. It was almost too easy, he thought to himself as he worked his way up to the fifth level platform. Once in position, he assembled his sniper rifle from memory in the dark and chambered a round. Then, he waited.

  • • •

  WILL PUSHED AGAINST the heavy wooden door of the west entrance. The hinges creaked as the massive door stubbornly gave way. The west corridor was dark, the only illumination coming from the end of the hall where it intersected the nave of the church. He stepped across the threshold and pulled the door closed behind him, erasing the triangle of moonlight on the floor at his feet. His stomach was uneasy. Fear and foreboding washed over him in waves. He was a soldier marching to battle; he was a condemned man shuffling to the gallows. He had agreed to the agents’ plan to confront Zurn. It was a sound plan. Certainly a better strategy than he could have conceived. But in his heart, he did not expect it to work.

  He walked slowly and deliberately into the nave. His eyes were now adjusted to the dark. Two candles flickered at the altar, which was located past the transept at the head of the church some thirty meters away. Moonlight shining through the glass windows of the cupola cast a bluish hue throughout the church. He moved down the center aisle. He extended his left hand and let his fingers brush lightly across the tops of the aged oak pews, one by one.

  One, two, three … seven, eight, nine … thirteen, fourteen.

  He stepped sideways into the fourteenth pew and sat down. He scooted along the bench until he was in the approximate middle. With his right hand, he reached down under the bench and swept back and forth, feeling for the vial. After a moment, he felt a lump and a texture he immediately recognized as the gauze tape. He peeled the tape free from the underside of the pew and retrieved the glass vial he had hidden—his insurance policy. He stripped the gauze tape off the vial and held it up into a beam of moonlight. The liquid inside shimmered as he tilted the glass tube side to side, watching the angle of the meniscus change.

  Above, from his hiding place on the scaffold, Stefan watched Will’s every move through his monocular night-vision scope. He zoomed in on the vial. He could see that the glass tube contained a liquid, but he did not know what the liquid was. Raimond had never mentioned a vial before. Maybe Raimond did not know about it. Maybe it was valuable. Maybe it was dangerous. He would have to inform his brother of this new development. Taking care not to make a sound, Stefan set the rifle down on the plywood decking. He retrieved his mobile phone from his pants pocket and began composing a text message to Raimond.

  Will wrapped a piece gauze tape around the top of the vial, to help secure the rubber cap. He then slid the tube into his right pants pocket. He lowered his head into his hands.

  A creaking noise broke the silence and startled Will out of his fretful monologue. The sound came from behind him.
He turned his head and looked toward the back of the nave where it intersected the west corridor. He heard footsteps.

  He exited the pew and took position in the center aisle facing the back of the church.

  “It’s time,” Will said into the microphone button pinned to his collar. “They’re here.”

  E. VanCleave—RS:Technical: “I just detected an electronic transmission from inside the church. Not one of ours. I’m running a trace.”

  K. Immel—RS:Physical: “Who has eyes on Romeo Zulu?”

  R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Social is trailing Romeo Zulu. Social, maintain radio silence: click once for yes, twice for no. Do you have eyes on Romeo Zulu?”

  A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “click”

  R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Is he talking on his phone?”

  A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “click, click”

  R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Is our Juliet with him?”

  A. Mesnil—RS:Social: “click”

  A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Shit. Who’s transmitting then? Did we confirm Udo Zurn’s death?”

  R. Parish—RS:Coordinator: “Yes.”

  A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Then it’s the other brother, Stefan. We need to locate him. According to their bios, the Zurn brothers like their guns.”

  K. Immel—RS:Physical: “If Bio is right, then we’ve got a shooter on our hands. Shit, that complicates things. The north end of the nave has a balcony that houses a pipe organ. Good sniper location. The staircase off the west corridor leads up to it. I swept it clear, but someone could have ducked in after me. There is also a tower of renovation scaffolding beneath the cupola that could be trouble.”

  A. Archer—RS:Bio: “Technical, can you pinpoint the location of the transmission?”